


Swing, Batter, Swing

by shnuffeluv



Category: NCIS
Genre: Abduction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Gen, Hospitals, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Matter of Life and Death, Team as Family, Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: What if Hicks decided to take matters into his own hands when Gibbs suspected he wasn't as innocent as he seemed? What if he decided to go after Gibbs' team as retaliation for Gibbs' suspicions? And what if the person he went after was none other than McGee?...Spoiler alert: It doesn't end well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank two of my friends for supporting me as I wrote this from midnight to three AM, so thank you, Liz and Bex. You two are the reason this thing exists as soon as it does. Hope it's angsty enough for you. ;)

The first thing McGee was aware of was the pain. It was a throbbing in his head, beating in time with his pulse, and its beat was like a faint, cool blue behind his eyes. The next thing he was aware of was the darkness. He furrowed his brows, eyes squeezing tighter shut. He tried to crack them open but they felt like lead. Opening them seemed like a monumental task.

His limbs felt even heavier, and there was a crick in his neck. His arms were held behind his back, which meant he must be tied up. He wiggled his fingers to try and grab at the rope, but he couldn't get his fingers to grasp at the knot, let alone pull at the rope holding them.

There was a sick laughter that filled the room and chilled McGee to the bone.  _Hicks_ , was the only coherent thought he could form before someone yanked his head up and back and pulled one of his eyelids open. "Good afternoon, Agent McGee. I was starting to wonder when you were going to come around."

McGee tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled mewl of a sound that murdered his throat and made him wince and hack.

Hicks let McGee's head drop again, before there was a series of clicks and beeps. McGee forced his eyes to open up, just a crack, and his head to lift just enough to see Hicks in the brightly lit room they were in, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He looked around and could see they were in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. "I know, I know, it's not my usual decor," Hicks lamented. "You'll have to forgive me, but I needed somewhere with a Wi-Fi signal for my favorite part of this."

Hicks moved to McGee's right, just enough to show a laptop with a webcam turned on and pointed at him sitting on a chair. And on the screen where the viewer should be, was the bullpen, Gibbs staring at where the plasma would be in shock, Ellie deathly pale, and Torres nearby judging by how loud his profanity was. McGee blinked, squinting at the screen. They all looked-or in Torres' case, sounded-so concerned. And somewhere in his brain he knew he should be, too. But past the initial scare of Hicks laughing, he was surprisingly apathetic.  _Must have a concussion_ , he thought idly.  _Why else would this seem okay?_

"Have anything you want to say to your team, Agent McGee?" Hicks said. "My voice is disguised, naturally, but don't worry--they'll hear yours loud and clear."

McGee blinked rapidly and shook his head subtly, in an attempt to rid himself of the haze in his brain. All he could manage to do was make his head pound worse, and his face contorted in pain. "Boss," he managed to croak. "It's Hicks, Boss, it's Hicks--"

Pain bloomed across his right cheek as he was slapped. "Now, now, Agent McGee. That just ruins the surprise," Hicks tutted. "But, since they know now..." He moved around behind McGee and grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his head up so that his whole neck was exposed. "Hello, there, everyone!"

McGee couldn't tear his eyes from the screen, where Gibbs and Bishop and Torres now were huddled in front of the plasma, various stages of rage and horror across their faces. "McGee," Gibbs said, voice deceptively calm. "How are you feeling?"

The pain was almost too overwhelming to respond. Hicks twisted his hair and McGee howled in pain. "It's rude not to answer, Timothy," Hicks said, in the voice one might use when scolding a child, patronizing in such a context as this.

"It..." McGee swallowed, blinking as tears formed in his eyes. "It hurts...I don't feel so good, Boss..."

Hicks laughed maniacally and let McGee's head drop to his chest again. He tried to lift it himself, but it was too monumental a task. "It wasn't easy picking which of your team to take, Gibbs, I must admit," Hicks said, unrestrained glee in his voice as he spoke to the camera. "You're so fond of all of them, even Agent Torres. But you have a soft spot for Agent McGee here, don't you? You're know each other what...fifteen years? That's certainly a long time. You must feel like  _family_." He spat the last word.

"Let him go," Gibbs said, and McGee could swear he heard a hint of fear in Gibbs' voice. "Let him go. Take me instead. I'm the one you want, aren't I? Don't hurt Tim."

"Bit late for that, Agent Gibbs," Hicks said. "Agent McGee seems to have gotten himself a few bumps and bruises. Really, it would be a mercy to kill him now."

McGee could taste blood. His attempts to move his legs only led him to the conclusion that his ankles were bound as well. He coughed, and blood mixed with spit dribbled down his chin. He whimpered against his will. He just wanted it to stop hurting, the throbbing in his head, the heat in his cheeks, the pins in his scalp. He wanted it all to  _stop_.

"What do you want?!" Gibbs demanded.

Hicks laughed. "Oh, that's easy, Agent Gibbs," he said. "I want to break you. Any final words you want to say to Agent McGee here before I start on his end?"

"Stay strong, Tim," Gibbs said, and when McGee looked up at his name he saw tears in Gibbs' eyes. "We're going to get you out of this."

McGee smiled sadly and a weak chuckle left his mouth. Everything was swimming, but he knew what he was about to say was important, someway, somehow. "Don't worry...'bout it, Dad. You've done...more for me...these past years than anyone else ever...had before. Thank you."

And then there was a blinding pain coming from his temple, and he cried out in pain, though his own voice sounded distant. There was the clattering of a chair falling onto the floor, and more pain on the opposite side of his head, and his whole left side, really. There was a tinny, concerned, "McGee!" from the computer, before Hicks strode over to it and smiled into the camera, turning it off. When he came back to McGee, his grin was manic, wild. "We're gonna have some fun,  _Tim_." The way Hicks said his name had McGee feeling ill. "Those other people I killed? They were to prove a point. This? This is personal. And you'd better believe that I'm going to take my time."

McGee blinked, trying to move his arms to cradle his throbbing head.  _Oh, right. I'm tied up_. The fact that he forgot that had him more than a little concerned, but he had no real way to handle his worry. He couldn't take steps to make sure he was all right, he doubted he could even stand on his own if he hadn't been tied up.

Hicks kicked McGee in the stomach, causing McGee to wretch and puke, his entire body shuddering and shaking with every heaving breath he took. When his breathing steadied again, Hicks righted the chair McGee was tied to, and made an exaggerated pout, saying, "You disappoint me, Tim. You know, I would have thought a softy like you would be begging for your life. After all, a beautiful wife, two newborns, you certainly...have a lot to live for."

McGee's head swam even more now, and there were black spots covering his vision. He tried to blink it away again, unsuccessfully. He took a breath, then another. Looking up at Hicks, he grinned. "Sorry to ruin your day. But you know...considering the fact you're gonna try and kill me, I don't really wanna cooperate all that much."

Another stinging came across his cheek, and Hicks was red in the face with rage. "How... _dare you_...I demand your respect!"

"Don't waste...your breath," Tim advised, a giggle bubbling up in his chest. He was borderline hysterical. The laughter flew out of his mouth without his permission, and his shoulders were shaking, straining against the position he was stuck in. "Ow...ow..." he breathed. "Ow!" he exclaimed, as Hicks prodded McGee's head where his original throbbing was coming from.

"I should have hit you harder," Hicks muttered. "Maybe gloated over your dead body, maybe leave you tied up for the rats, let your team never find you. Then again...that would mean you couldn't feel the pain of what's about to happen next."

To McGee's confusion, Hicks undid his bindings, causing him to crumple inward on the chair, and nearly fall off it. He tried to even sit up, but the closest he came was leaning back and his head lolling back to look at the ceiling.

"Stand up, Agent McGee," Hicks invited.

McGee braced his hands on the chair and swayed to a standing position. Hicks grinned. "Welcome to the fight for your life. You win, I'll let you go and you can stumble your little way back to NCIS. You lose and...well...I think you can figure out what happens," Hicks said, caressing the bat he had used earlier.

This was trouble, so much trouble. Trouble that deserved a capital T. McGee was barely standing, how was he supposed to fight in his current state? Granted, if he had to take on Hicks normally, he'd win while barely breaking a sweat. So the point was probably that he  _couldn't_  fight right now.

Hicks took a swing towards McGee and McGee swayed away from it, nearly tripping over his feet and narrowly missing the flying aluminum going at his skull. He leaned forward, trying to right himself, and he nearly fell flat on his face. There was  _no way_  he could even  _hope_  to take a swing at Hicks like this. Standing alone was making the throbbing in his head worse.

Hicks took another swing, going for McGee's leg, and McGee cried in pain, dropping to his knees. He looked up to find Hicks leaning over him, panting and that same manic grin covering his face. And McGee didn't know what possessed him, but he was  _not_  going to let Hicks kill him. Not without a fight.

As Hicks readied himself for another swing, McGee lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Hick's legs, before leaning back and up as hard as he could, which proved to be just hard enough to cause Hicks to land on the floor. The clang of metal on concrete was loud as both men looked at the bat rolling away from Hick's hand.

There was one comical moment like in the movies, where both men looked at each other, gauging how desperate the other was. Hick's smile had dropped, and McGee was pretty sure he saw a sliver of fear in his eyes. He was sure that the wild desperation he felt showed on his face. And then, in an instant, both men were crawling forward, scrabbling for the bat.

Hicks got close, before McGee grabbed his shirt, yanking him back and crawling on top of him for the bat. Hicks threw him off and reached forward, fingers grazing the bat. McGee felt another streak of wild desperation, and despite the throbbing in his head increasing, and all his limbs screaming, the throbbing turning red as blood behind his eyes, he launched himself at the bat and managed to grab it.

He had no hope of pinning Hicks down, so he didn't bother. He brought himself to his knees, and slammed the bat down on Hick's head as hard as he physically possibly could. And did it again. And again. And again. Tears were clouding his eyes as the bat turned as red as the throbbing in his head, and Hick's body shuddered with every swing, but was eerily still otherwise. And he didn't stop swinging. He couldn't stop swinging, because that would mean Hicks could get the bat, and he didn't want to die! He had a wife and two kids to get back to!

When someone tried to wrestle the bat from his grip, he held on to it like his very life depended on it. For all he knew, it did. "Tim!" a sharp voice ordered him. "Stop it! He's dead! Hicks is dead, Tim!"

McGee stopped, and Gibbs took the bat from his tight grip, putting it in an evidence bag. He made the mistake of looking down and saw the completely bashed-in skull of the body that used to be Hicks. His stomach churned and he could barely turn away before he very violently threw up bile. His head was spinning, and Gibbs' hands were on his shoulders, and he could hear distorted versions of Bishop and Torres' voices, and then he was carried outside where there were bright blue and red lights, not unlike the throbbing in his head, where he was carted to an ambulance and paramedics' mouths moved without him even hearing their voices. And then, mercifully, everything went black.

When he came to, he was in a hospital, and it was night, and someone was holding his hand. He lolled his head to the side and was surprised to see not Delilah, not Abby or Bishop or Torres, but Gibbs sitting there, asleep. He couldn't help it; he started to laugh. It was a raspy, rattling noise that sent him into a coughing fit, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Gibbs immediately startled awake and looked over at him, concerned. When he saw McGee's smile, he seemed to relax. "What's so funny?" he asked.

McGee coughed a couple more times, and Gibbs passed him water, which he gratefully sipped. "You," he said. "You're sitting here."

"Of course I'm sitting here," Gibbs said, almost looking affronted. "You were nearly beaten to death, Tim."

"And that warrants you sitting in a hospital chair, waiting for me to wake up?" McGee asked.

"Yes," Gibbs said, with force. "You called me  _Dad_ , Tim. The least I could do in return for you killing Hicks is be there for my son."

McGee smiled, despite the pain it brought to his chapped lips. He weakly laughed. "Sorry 'bout that Dad thing, I was kinda delirious from the concussion, I think..."

"Hey. I don't mind, Tim," Gibbs said, squeezing Tim's hand. "I'm honored."

McGee was a little blown away by the fact that Gibbs was so accepting of this, but he certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "You said...Hicks is dead?"

"He can't hurt you or anyone else ever again," Gibbs confirmed. "You made sure of it."

"He dropped the bat," McGee recalled, pulled back into the moment. "I knew it was now or never, and I leapt forward for it, and just...swung and swung until you showed up."

"You know, Tim...that took us almost two hours," Gibbs said. "It's a small wonder you didn't pass out by then."

"Adrenaline is a wonderful thing," McGee said, before falling into another coughing fit.

"Rest for now," Gibbs advised. "Everyone is going to flood your room tomorrow to make sure that you're all right. You're going to need the energy."

McGee nodded. "All right. Thanks..." McGee paused. He had said it once, what was the harm in saying it again? "...Dad."

Gibbs just chuckled and squeezed McGee's hand again. "If you ever get kidnapped by a serial killer again, I will ground you for a month."


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs was angry. When McGee had been late, at first he had just been irritated. Traffic hadn't been  _too_  terrible, and McGee should have been able to anticipate that he'd need to leave earlier. An hour went by and he was agitated. There was no reason his SFA should be this late to work without some sort of explanation, or call-in to let Gibbs know what was going on. If he had been up too late fooling around with Delilah and slept through his alarm, Gibbs would have his head.

Now, it was late afternoon, and Gibbs hadn't heard anything from McGee, or Delilah, or anyone else who might know what was going on. He was ready to murder McGee on sight for being this irresponsible. How could he so carelessly dismiss his job?

As he was ruminating on this, the plasma suddenly crackled to life. Gibbs looked up. The sound was on, but the screen looked almost black. It looked like it was showing the back of someone's shirt in the lighter areas. Bishop and Torres had looked up as well, and Bishop turned to Gibbs with a frown, though Gibbs wouldn't be able to tell her what was going on.

A mysterious, distorted voice came through the plasma. "I know, I know, it's not my usual decor. You'll have to forgive me, but I needed somewhere with a Wi-Fi signal for my favorite part of this."

The black moved away and suddenly Gibbs could see McGee, tied to a chair and barely conscious, with blood trailing down one side of his head, making his hair look matted. Torres cursed. Bishop turned ash white. Gibbs barely registered either of their reactions, his eyes fixated on the plasma. McGee looked lost, confused. Like he didn't understand why they were worried.

"Have anything you want to say to your team, Agent McGee?" the voice asked, mockery in its tone. "My voice is disguised, naturally, but don't worry--they'll hear yours loud and clear."

McGee was struggling to even stay conscious, that much was clear. But even so, his mouth was moving, forcing out the words that were apparently vital for him to relay. "Boss," he managed to croak. "It's Hicks, Boss, it's Hicks--"

A man moved into the frame and smacked McGee across the cheek, and anger filled Gibbs like a fire. He moved closer to the plasma, Torres and Bishop doing the same. If Gibbs could have reached through and throttled the man who had taken his SFA hostage, he would have. "Now, now, Agent McGee. That just ruins the surprise. But, since they know now..." Hicks, the man Gibbs hated most in this world, moved around behind McGee and grabbed his hair, holding his head up to face the screen. There was a crackle and Hick's voice came on normally and clear. "Hello, there, everyone!"

Gibbs wasn't going to give Hicks the satisfaction of addressing him, not yet. His priority right now had to be McGee. "McGee," Gibbs said, voice steady despite the trembling fear he felt inside. "How are you feeling?"

McGee didn't answer right away, his breathing too labored. Hicks twisted McGee's hair and Gibbs felt pure rage surge through him as McGee cried out in pain. "It's rude not to answer, Timothy," Hicks scolded, and Gibbs knew Hicks would not live to see the end of the day.  
"It..." McGee swallowed, blinking rapidly. "It hurts...I don't feel so good, Boss..."

Hicks laughed maniacally and let McGee's head drop to his chest again. McGee's head lolled to the side, no doubt he was trying to lift his head up himself but couldn't, for whatever reason. "It wasn't easy picking which of your team to take, Gibbs, I must admit," Hicks said, smile unnerving as he explained. "You're so fond of all of them, even Agent Torres. But you have a soft spot for Agent McGee here, don't you? You're know each other what...fifteen years? That's certainly a long time. You must feel like  _family_."

"Let him go," Gibbs said, surprised his voice didn't tremble. Hicks' track record with family meant that this did not bode well for any of them, but especially McGee. "Let him go. Take me instead. I'm the one you want, aren't I? Don't hurt Tim."

"Bit late for that, Agent Gibbs," Hicks said. "Agent McGee seems to have gotten himself a few bumps and bruises. Really, it would be a mercy to kill him now."

_No. No, no. Please, don't_. "What do you want?!" Gibbs demanded.

Hicks laughed. "Oh, that's easy, Agent Gibbs. I want to break you. Any final words you want to say to Agent McGee here before I start on his end?"

"Stay strong, Tim," Gibbs said. He cursed his eyes for watering, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing McGee, not so soon after they had barely gotten out of Paraguay. "We're going to get you out of this."

McGee smiled sadly and a weak chuckle left his mouth. Gibbs frowned, but the next words that left his mouth chilled Gibbs to the bone. It was McGee's goodbye. "Don't worry...'bout it, Dad. You've done...more for me...these past years than anyone else ever...had before. Thank you."

Hicks picked up a bat from the floor and swung it down hard on McGee's head, causing him and the chair to crash to the floor out of sight of the computer. "McGee!" Gibbs exclaimed, throat closing up.

The only response he got was Hick's feral smile as he walked over and turned off the camera.

Gibbs stood there, frozen in time for a second. Then, he turned to Bishop, and before he even said anything, she said, "I'll go downstairs and see if Abby can find the source of the hack."

When he turned to Torres, he said, "BOLO on Hicks and McGee's vehicles will be out in a minute. If they used either of them, we'll know where they are."

Gibbs could only feel his heart beating out of his chest. McGee had to be okay. He had survived worse, and gotten out with fewer scars. This had to be the same. It had to be. First Tony, now Tim...no. Tim wasn't gone yet, he was still out there, presumably alive. They had to assume he was alive. They  _had_  to. Because if he was dead...Gibbs would never forgive himself for being mad at McGee going AWOL.

Abby was able to trace the location of the hacker, but only to a warehouse (judging by the background of the stream) somewhere around Annapolis. Gibbs didn't, couldn't wait until they got more clues as to McGee's whereabouts. He got Bishop and Torres and they all got in a car, driving to Annapolis. Bishop kept track of the BOLOs in the car. Torres sat in the backseat, growling. Gibbs didn't blame him, frankly. Even with Gibbs forgoing rush-hour traffic on the highways by taking back roads, it still took them almost an hour to get to Annapolis. They drove to every possible place that could have a warehouse isolated enough that no one would notice Hicks or McGee. No such luck. It was only when Bishop got a BOLO hit on McGee's car just outside Bowie, Maryland that they were able to find the rough area where McGee would have been held. The main problem was that there were at least ten different abandoned warehouses where they were looking.

Gibbs got out of the car and ordered to Bishop and Torres, "Split up!"

McGee had to be alive, Gibbs thought as he ran to a warehouse at the edge of the facility, hoping to work his way inward. He  _had_  to be alive. Gibbs had ordered him to hang in there, and McGee had never defied a direct order like this. He looked through the warehouse, finding no one. He moved to the next one, still nothing. At the third, he heard a sickening crunching sound coming from inside, and Gibbs called Torres, telling him to grab Bishop and for both of them to get over to where he was, and call in reinforcements and an ambulance while they were at it.

He opened the door, and the smell of blood instantly assaulted his nose. Gibbs thought he might get sick, it was so overpowering. He could see two chairs and a laptop, and about fifteen feet away, McGee was kneeling, bloody and halfway delirious. He was using a baseball bat to beat Gabriel Hicks' corpse.

Gibbs walked over, but McGee didn't seem to notice him, only taking notice when Gibbs tried to take the bat away. McGee kept a death grip on it, almost snarling at Gibbs like a wild animal. "Tim! Stop it! He's dead! Hicks is dead, Tim!" Gibbs barked.

McGee's grip on the bat went lax, and he looked up at Gibbs as Gibbs shoved the bat into a bag that was waiting by one of the chairs. No doubt Hicks was going to use it to transport some kind of evidence away from the scene of the crime.

When McGee wretched, Gibbs was instantly at his side, looking him over, holding him up by the shoulders. It was quite obvious he had a concussion, he had bruises everywhere on his left side, and his wrists and ankles were bright pink from whatever he had been bound with. But it seemed like the cause of his puking was the sight of Hick's bashed in skull, because he blindly grabbed for Gibbs even as he stared at the bloody remains of the head. Bishop and Torres rushed in. "You found him!" Bishop exclaimed.

"Ambulance is three minutes out," Torres said, walking over. "Did McGee do that?" he asked, gesturing to the body.

McGee didn't even seem to acknowledge Torres had said anything, so Gibbs answered for him. "I walked in here to find McGee smashing in Hicks' skull."

There were sirens approaching outside and Gibbs picked up McGee, since he clearly wasn't getting up on his own, and he carried him outside to where an ambulance was waiting, along with two police cars. The paramedics swarmed McGee, asking things like, "Sir, can you hear me?" and "What's your name?" but McGee just looked at them blankly for about twenty seconds before his eyes drifted shut.

They got him in the ambulance and Gibbs went to follow them, but a police officer grabbed his arm. "Sir, we're going to need your statement," he said.

Gibbs snarled at him. "Get it at the hospital, then. I'm going to make sure my son is all right."

No one even dared approach him until McGee was safely in a hospital bed and Gibbs was by his side, and even then only Delilah dared wheel into the room to demand to know what had happened. Gibbs felt guilt eat at him as he said, "I don't know how he got abducted. But I should have known. I was  _angry_  at him for not showing up. I should have called you, asking where he was."

"This isn't your fault Gibbs," Delilah sighed, looking McGee over. "The only one we have to blame for this is Hicks. And he's dead."

The thought of McGee desperately swinging the bat into Hick's skull over and over again came into Gibbs' mind, and he wisely chose to not enlighten Delilah with that particular detail. "He is," was all he said.

"Will you keep an eye on him tonight?" Delilah asked. "I have to get back. Make sure the babies are fed. I'll be here first thing in the morning."

Gibbs nodded. "Of course. Be careful," he cautioned, although he was unsure why he felt the need to say it.

Delilah just smiled and blew a kiss at McGee before wheeling out.

Gibbs sighed and looked at McGee. The nurses and doctors had cleaned him up, had given him stitches on his head where they were needed, and had given McGee an IV full of painkillers. But Gibbs couldn't stop seeing the blood on McGee's hands and clothes, the desperation in his eyes as he beat a corpse that he didn't even realize was dead. That image might never leave him, and he could only hope it would fade in his mind with time. He needed to focus on the now. McGee was out cold, but he was safe. He was going to make sure that when McGee woke up, there was someone here with him. He would wait no matter how long it took. And, Gibbs swore to himself, if McGee ever got himself into a situation like this again, Gibbs would implant a tracker in McGee's neck so they didn't have to search everywhere for him. He did  _not_  want McGee to become a frequent flier when it came to abductions, or hospital visits.

He sighed. McGee was safe. He just needed to focus on that. And he would keep focusing on it until he could feel like he could breathe again.


End file.
